


Yes, sir, I was dressed well

by MorteMistrata



Series: Lions everywhere [20]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 20:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17669267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: Prompt:Hi! If we can still request... Could I maybe ask for the “Attempted Rape” trope with Hunk? And the other Paladins save him just in time? It can be set in any season besides 8, cause I haven’t watched it yet... Thank you for allowing us to send requests! You’re very nice ^^





	Yes, sir, I was dressed well

For the first time in his life, Hunk is the small one in the room. It’s a strange feeling, since he’s usually the tallest, and the biggest, but he finds that it’s not all that bad. He can still grab food from the floating trays that pass by, providing food for the guests, which Pidge and Keith struggle to do. He watches as she gestures at one of their hosts, (what species they are, he has no clue) and waits for one of them to smile, revealing strangely black teeth. The alien hands Pidge a kabob with some kind of grilled plant on it, and continues on his way. 

Hunk is surprised that this Voltron Alliance meeting isn’t as invasive as the others have been. No one’s competing for their attentions, or being obnoxious in an attempt to strike up a conversation. If not for having to still wear his armor, (for appearances really. The Galra haven’t been in this sector for a good twenty years) he’d even say it was comfortable. 

A tall, lithe figure steps up beside, pretending to fuss over the desert pastries lazily floating by. Ah, Hunk thinks, I spoke too soon. The person has the same, deep blue skin as the others do, but wears a longer dress that falls like a toga to their knees. Their hair is held up in an intricate braided style that reminds Hunk of the cornrows on girls back home. 

“Hi there.” Hunk says, deciding to speak first. “I’m Hunk, yellow paladin. What’s your name?”

They let out a small chur, like a chattering bird, and smile. “Designation: K’thala. It is pleasurable to meet you.”

“Hey, uh, it’s nice to meet you too.” Hunk pauses. It’s been a while since he’s had a conversation with someone who wasn’t a.) one of the six people he’s spent the last three years fighting purple space aliens with, b.) a galra or other enemy he’s fighting, or is helping to fight, or c.) someone he’s recently saved or worked with to save someone else. He’s not exactly sure what to say. With Lance or Pidge, there’s familiarity; they know about the same things. If he references some obscure thing about Earth, they’ll understand. With Allura or Coran, he’s already gotten past that awkward getting to know you bit, and has a few inside jokes to fall back on. With a stranger like this, he isn’t sure what to say.

Apparently K’thala doesn’t know what to say either. They stare down at him silently, teeth nipping off bits of fluffy bread. 

Great. The galactic equivalent of asking about the weather. Hunk internally sighs, and waits for K’thala to respond. 

“Life is pleasurable. We do not experience any outside conflict due to our superior defense systems. Would you like to view our defense systems?” Her words come out almost mechanically, in a tone that hovers between questioning and stating. It takes Hunk a moment to realize that he’s being asked a question.

“Oh, uh, I would love to, but I think leaving the party would be kind of rude.” K’thala’s face shifts into what he thinks might be displeasure, though they still look pleasantly content. “But uh, thanks for the offer.”

“It would be impolite to refuse,” K’thala says as they step closer. Hunk can smell something faintly sweet, like spun sugar, or baking cookies as they lean over him. Their eyes are a pretty color. “Especially to refuse the Overseer of the defense grid when they ask for your company.”

Hunk feels like he’s probably still supposed to stay here, even if this is the Overseer, but the idea of going along with K’thala seems like the better option. “I- uh, okay.” 

K’thala takes his hand in theirs, long fingers curling over his stubby ones, and leads him past the serving tables, and through some doors, and into a dark little room with lots of screens. Hunk blinks and tries to remember his way back to the party, but his mind feels strangely heavy, like he’s had one too many shots of nunvil. 

“Wait,” His tongue moves thick and heavy against his teeth. The words get in them like a bunny in brambles. “Where’s the thing-y? The thing you were supposed to show me?”

K’thala looks down at him and clicks their tongue. “I have something better to show you.”

They place a spindly hand against his chest, and shove him back. He stumbles, but before he can catch himself, is pushed down again. He lands on one of the consoles lining the room. A button or switch presses into his back uncomfortably. 

“Wait,” he says again. The smell of sugar grows stronger now, like burning sugar, like a bakery in the spring. It starts to irritate his nose, but he can’t get away from it, not matter which way he turns his head. “St- stop.” He slurrs,

K’thala pulls his armor off like it’s not magnetized into place, like there’s nothing holding it there at all. A clawed finger grazes his hip. “You do not wish me to stop, do you?”

The smell again. Hunk can hardly breathe, it’s so thick. His thoughts feel like molasses pouring from a can; slow and thick, and impossible to see through. Hunk doesn’t say anything. K’thala rips his undersuit across the abdomen, and tears it down until it hangs  around his knees. His stomach stings from the cut, but Hunk can hardly feel it. Everything feels like it’s being filtered through cotton, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

K’thala turns him around, and presses up against him. Something horribly familiar and phallic shaped presses up against the small of his back. They churr again, and press a hand against his hip. Oh god no, Hunk thinks. He knows what’s going on, but he can’t get his tongue to work, or his hand to reach for his bayard. He knows what’s about to happen, but it’s like time has slowed just for him.

A bright light shines against him. K’thala shies away from it with a hiss. Hunk lays his cheek on the cool metal of the console.

“Get off of him!” Pidge yells as she lunges like a panther at it’s prey. She lands on K’thala’s back, knocking them back a few steps, but not down to the floor. The sugary smell suddenly goes sharp and sour, like a freshly cut lemon. 

“Do not intervene in things which you do not understand, child.” K’thala hisses. 

K’thala attempts to sweep her aside, but their arm is held back by Shiro as he steps into the room. “I think I understand just fine.”

K’thala looks at the two of them dubiously, as if doubting that the two could take them. 

“Do you understand what will happen to you, if you make another move?” Shiro’s arm starts to glow a faint purple; hinting at violence, but not providing it just yet. 

“You understand nothing.” K’thala hisses, but does not make due on the threat to shake Pidge off. She shifts, and presses her bayard into the side of her neck and presses the trigger. They fall to the ground in a heap. 

“Fuck off.” She mutters. It is only then that she looks up. Pidge studies his face for a moment, decidedly not looking at his waist. She’s looking down at him. When did he get on the floor? “Are you okay?”

“M’ okay.” Hunk slurs. 

“Just wait a minute, okay? Lance will help you get,” Shiro’s gaze flickers down to his cut suit, then back to his face. “He’ll help you up, and then Allura will call the guards.”

“Hey, buddy,” Lance murmurs as he steps inside. He hooks Hunk’s arm around his shoulder, and helps him to his feet. Hunk clumsily reaches for his pants and pulls them back up as Pidge picks up his discarded and broken armor, and holds it cradled in her arms. “We’re going back to the castle now, okay?”

“Okay.” Hunk says as Lance leads him out into the hall. The bright lights hurt his eyes. He closes them, and lets his friend lead him back home.

 

“What happened?” Are the first words out of his mouth the second Hunk feels normal again. “They made me feel drunk. What was that?”

“Pheromones.” Coran supplies as he places a cup of something hot and steaming in front of him. Everyone else is asleep. They would have waited for the effects to wear off, if Coran had allowed it, but he’d forced them all to get some sleep. From what he remembers, they needed it. Everyone was so worried about him, and so angry. 

“Pheromones?” Hunk holds the cup with two hands, and tries to remember what it felt like when his mother made him tea on cold days. He takes a sip, and politely regrets it.

“The Ankartha species relies heavily on sensory cues for communication. They used them to make you easier to coerce when you didn’t show any signs of interest.” Coran sighs. “I didn’t realize. Our information is more outdated than I thought.”

“Hmm.” Hunk hums. “It’s okay. Nothing happened. They got there in time.”

“It was still a frightening experience.” Coran says gently. “You’re allowed to still be upset by it.”

Hunk knows this. He’s aware that almost assault isn’t anything to laugh at. Still, it’s hard to accept. “I know.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it now, but you should talk about it with someone.”

“I will,” He promises, and Hunk means it. 


End file.
